Selfinsertion O'BuggerSubtlety and the PSSS
by Nights Mistress
Summary: The true story of the Philosopher's Stone. Follow Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety in his attempts to wreck havok on the English b#$%#@s who rule his homeland. Involves shot owls, terrorists!Hufflepuffs and explosions. Lots of explosions
1. Default Chapter

**Selfinsertion O'Bugger Subtlety and the Philosopher's Stone - Nights Mistress**

Note: If you haven't worked it out from the title, the main character's name, the category this is stored under or even the premise, this is a parody. It does not reflect my opinions on a lot of things (except the Northern Ireland conflict - in my opinion that is pretty damn stupid) and should not be taken seriously, unless you really want to that is.

You could say that this story started with an owl bearing a letter. You'd be wrong though. Then again, what more should I expect? After all, you have never had to suffer centuries of having the dictatorial British bastards rule every aspect of your life. If you had, I'm sure you'd see it my way.

Anyway, my name is Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety. I used to be a junior member of the IRA, and my adult membership is pending, depending on the success of this mission. And what is this mission? To bring the imperial British to their knees so they'll stop ruling my homeland, Northern Ireland.

The story actually started with an owl being shot out of the sky. 

*

"Oi, Self! Get over here!" my father roared from the other end of the gutted car. "Some bloody bird has a letter for you!" I clambered over from the boot into the front seat, where I was confronted with the corpse of an owl. Sure enough, there was a letter addressed to me.

_Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety_

_Boot of gutted car_

_Belfast_

_Northern Ireland_

I opened the letter, eyebrows going to my hairline.

"Hey dad, some crackpot reckons that I'm a wizard," I commented. My father grunted as he watched his watch.  The expected explosion rocked the car a few moments later.

"Reilly," my father spat. "Absolutely no sense of timing whatsoever. Couldn't he wait until after mine went off?"

"He's running off the cathedral clock," I replied absently as I continued to read my prank letter. "You know it's fast."

"Everyone knows it's fast!" my father retorted. "We all manage to subtract five minutes however." The car was rocked with yet another explosion. It was much bigger this time, suggesting the use of more then one explosive.

"And that's why we syncronise them!" my father continued. "To prevent warnings like that!"

"Yes dad," I replied, having heard it all before. In fact, I was the one who used to present explosives lectures to the Junior IRA, but to hear dad talk, he's the only person who knows how to make and use them. 

"Anyway, what's this?" my father demanded, snatching my letter out of my hand. I considered fighting him for it but decided against it. It wasn't as if I hadn't read it yet.

"Hogwarts? Did you send off for something again Self?" my father asked irately. "I keep telling you, the car is not a valid postal address!"

"No dad. Someone sent it here all by themselves," I replied. "It's not uncommon for people to send letters, you know. "

"But without a letter bomb?" my father blurted, horrified. "How can that be?" I shrugged.

"Maybe they're really crap at them, or just forgot." My father looked suitably horrified at such a suggestion.

"Anyway, they want you to reply via owl as soon as possible," my father added. We both looked at the owl corpse. This could be difficult.

*

As it turned out, it wasn't so difficult, because they kept sending more owls. It was hard getting one through all the cross-fire though.  This particular owl had a footnote on it, a rather snide one too if you ask me.

_ps. Would you please refrain from shooting the owls. It's become almost impossible to encourage one to go anywhere near you now._

"Rude blighters," my father commented.  I nodded in agreement.

"Must be English," he added sagely. I nodded again. Only the English would be that stupid. "Come to think on it, I have an idea."

"What's that dad?"

"Well, I've been doing a bit of research, and this Hogwarts place is like the bastion of magical Britain. So if we really wanted to make an impact, we'd have to blow Hogwarts sky high. Only thing is, you're the only one that can do it. Up to it Self?"

"What's in it for me?"

"Apart from getting one step closer to liberating our land? I'll see about full IRA membership."

"Really? Cool!" With this incentive, I quickly wrote a message on the back of the envelope and sent the owl on it's way. It nipped at my fingers and looked as if it would rather gnaw off my hand then go back out there. Too bad. It was going out there if I had to drag it out, shoot it full of adrenaline and laugh as it flew around in circles.

*

After reading all about it, I was not impressed by Platform 9 and 3/4's. A small boy with a lightning scar on his forehead approached me along the platform. It was time to introduce myself.

At the last minute I stuck out my foot and watched him fall. Other children gave me mixed looks. A blond boy approached me.

"My name is Malfoy," said the stuck up little no-life. "What's yours?"

"O'Bugger-Subtlety," said I. "Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety. I call myself Self for short." The little English prat looked somewhat confused at this.

"What do your friends call you?" he demanded. I shrugged.

"What is a friend?" I asked, somewhat puzzled. In my experience, people fell into three categories; members of the IRA, the police and traitors who sold us out to the police.  Depending on which category was calling me, it was either Self, You Little Bastard, or Are You a Nice Boy Who Will Tell Me Things? Somehow I didn't think it was the last two.

"You know, people who like you," Malfoy prompted. Nope, still had no clue. This conversation was getting boring. 

"Call me Self," I said dismissively as I walked away. As I walked, I knocked over some girl with bushy hair. Her hair gave me a death stare. Or was that her? It's hard to tell under all that hair. Anyway, she crashed to the ground and called me a few names. I wasn't all that worried. I'd heard worse from my father after Reilly screwed up. She soon shut up after I walked away.

Finally the train whistle blew, and I dived onto the train to search for an empty carriage. If the wizarding world was typified by the three moronic individuals I had just met, then I doubt that I would ever want to associate with them. Unfortunately I was subjected to three little brats. They told me their names when they invaded my area. I immediately christened them Dopey, Grumpy and Sleepy, and referred to them as such for the rest of the train trip.

"Hey, Selfinsertion, have you seen my toad?" Dopey asked. I scowled at him over my book.

"No, Dopey, I haven't. And even if I had, I wouldn't tell you. If you're stupid enough to lose a toad, then that's your look out." Dopey's face crumpled and I mentally smiled. Another job well done. Dopey ran out of the carriage, closely followed by Grumpy. Unfortunately Sleepy remained in the carriage for the rest of the trip. 

When the train stopped, I turned off all the lights in the carriage and left Sleepy behind. She should have stayed awake, so I could have chased her out. Oh well. She'll learn. When she wakes up on the return trip to Kings Cross Station.

Some giant thing bellowed that all first years should go to him. Not likely. I've heard all about hazing, and there is no way I'm going in there defenseless. My father packed some little surprises in my bag, but first I had to get to them. 

I got caught up in the rush of second to seventh years and was propelled toward some carriages. Shrugging, I climbed aboard one with two students wearing green and silver.

"Who the hell are you?" one demanded. "You're not in Slytherin."

"He's not in any house, Flint. We got ourselves a firstie. Didn't you hear the giant?" the other asked. I shrugged again.

"I don't trust him." This seemed to be the correct response. Both students relaxed.

"I like you kid. What's your name?"

"Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety," I replied. "What's yours?"

"Marcus Flint."

"Christopher Avery. So what's in the bag?" I quickly closed the bag, having ascertained that my more illicit belongings hadn't been confiscated. 

"Just stuff to blow up Hogwarts. You know, the usual," I replied ingenuously. The two Slytherins laughed.

"Wish we'd thought of that in first year," Avery commented in between snickers.

"We were too busy smuggling in brooms," Flint pointed out. "Anyway, he's just joking. Can't you tell?" I put on my innocent look, eyes wide and mouth slightly downturned.

Our conversation was rudely interrupted when one of the teachers rapped loudly on the carriage door.

"Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety? Get out here and stop playing games!" a shrill woman's voice cut into the carriage. Both Slytherins winced.

"It's McGonagall," Avery hissed. 

"Quick, hide him under the chair!" Flint whispered. 

"Accio Selfinsertion!" McGonagall chanted. I swore loudly as I slammed heavily into the carriage wall. The door slammed open and McGonagall dragged me outside.

"Of all the things! Running away from Hagrid, hiding with those two, of all people! You have not made a very good start Mister O'Bugger-Subtlety." I stopped listening after a while. Unlike my father or O'Connell, McGonagall was rather repetitive in her ranting.

She practically threw me onto a boat and stormed off. I glared sullenly at the other two occupants of the boat, two girls that glared back at me.

"Who do you think you are?" one asked, a snobby girl with wispy blonde hair demanded. "We've been waiting forever for you!"

"I know exactly who I am," I replied coolly. "Unfortunately, if you need help in that department, I can't be of use. Sorry."

The other girl gasped and her fists clenched. 

"Oh, and before I forget, _silencio!" The trip was nice and quiet after that. Of course McGonagall was not happy about removing the charm and the detention that she issued wasn't going to be fun, but it was worth it._

After the detention was sorted out, we were walked into the Great Hall. It wasn't that great. In fact it just looked like a huge room full of students. Much like school back home.

The hat started to sing, and I tuned it out. It was easy, after all, my older sister Mary was much louder then that.

"Now when I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," McGonagall recited. I prepared myself for a long wait.

And it was.

"O'Bugger-Subtlety, Selfinsertion!" she called out finally, almost drowned out by the cheers from the Slytherin table. I think I like them. I rolled my eyes at her. She looked affronted. The cheers doubled.

I placed the hat on my head and waited.

"Now you won't be a problem at all to sort," the hat mused. "It's clear cut where you go."

"And where's that?" I asked.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat roared. I yanked the hat off my head and rubbed at my ears. The Slytherins weren't cheering anymore. In fact, they looked rather confused. I smiled apologetically and walked over to the Hufflepuff table.

"Hey Selfinsertion!" a boy beside me yelled. I turned around, mild frown on my face.

"I'm Justin. Haven't I seen you somewhere?" I frowned. 

"Maybe," I replied. Justin frowned for a moment, then his eyes widened as realisation dawned on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but an older student tapped him on the shoulder.

"Later," she said meaningfully. I frowned. What was going to happen later?

Authors Note: This was inspired by an early start at work and the complaint of there being too many 'American Exchange Students' fics. So I wrote a story about the anti-Mary Sue. Or is that an inverse Mary Sue? I really should stop doing my maths revision while writing fanfic.

If you're curious about the full story about Selfinsertion's birth, email me!

So, should I continue? Review me! Even if it's to tell me what you last ate, or that you hate cucumber, I don't mind. Flames are fun too.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer, I own nothing you recognise, with the exception of Eric Chant, who (sadly) belongs to Diana Wynne Jones. Go Cat!

After dinner, Dumbledore stood up. The upper year Hufflepuffs groaned quietly. The first years looked confused. 

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students," Dumbledore began. Self resolved to visit this forbidden forest as soon as possible. It couldn't possibly be as bad as his mother's screaming fits; they were legendary.

"And the third floor corridor is out of bounds for anyone that does not want to die a most painful death," Dumbledore concluded. The Gryffindors laughed. Self hated them instantly. Couldn't they tell that the man was serious? The Gryffindor area was going to be the first to go.

Finally the food appeared. Self watched in horror as normally human students metamorphosed into slavering beasts, beating one another over the head with drumsticks. Sneaking a hand under the table, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a chocolate bar. Sneaking surrepticious glances around the room, he tore off the wrapper and bit into the chocolate. Evidently he would have to write home and beg for a care package as soon as possible. He doubted that he would be eating any of the food here, thank you very much.

"And now, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore enthused. The teachers' faces tightened and lines of strain appeared around their mouths. Some of the more enterprising Hufflepuffs pulled out pink fluffy earmuffs. Self's eyebrows reached his hairline. Was the school song _that_ bad?

Yes.

Finally the torment petered into a drone from two Gryffindors. Definitely knock off the Gryffindors first. Dumbledore said something inane, but Self wasn't all that interested. He was sure that his ears were bleeding and kept checking. He caught a glimpse of other first years doing something similar. 

"First years! Hufflepuff First years!" a girl called. Self stood up and walked over to her. She tapped her foot while the rest of the first years meandered toward her. Once they had all arrived she stormed away, her black robes streaming behind her, making her look like an overgrown bat. Self sniggered at the mental image.

She stopped in front of a blank wall and rapped a quick staccato on a sequence of bricks with her wand. The bricks disappeared. Self was not impressed, he had been to Diagon Alley after all. She shepherded the group through the door, then whispered something under her breath. The bricks reappeared. Self rested his hand against one and grinned when he realised that the bricks were an illusion. The darkness lifted as a series of lights lit up, allowing a view that seemed to stretch into eternity.

However, he was not given time to ponder this as the group was moving forward. Self was somewhat startled when the group seemed to disappear until he realised that they had gone through an unlit passageway and the lights were just an illusion. That was cool.

The girl, probably a prefect, stopped outside a door.

"Oi! Mind letting us in?" she called.

"What's the password?" someone yelled back. She sighed heavily and shook her head.

"The repressive regime will no longer be tolerated," she called out. The door remained closed.

"Come on, just let us in!" she shouted, kicking the door. Self wondered what this achieved, apart from a sore foot.

"You know I can't," someone replied. "That was last year's password. Come on, it's not hard!" The girl rolled her eyes and tapped her foot in annoyance. She scowled in frustration, then her expression cleared, only to be replaced with a martyred expression.

"Dumbledore smokes pot," she called back resignedly. The door creaked open, revealing yet another passage. "Must get around to changing that," she commented quietly. "Some people just lack subtlety."

Once everyone was inside the passageway, the door slammed shut, leaving them in darkness.

"Bollocks," the girl commented and whispered something. The lights switched on. There was a painting of a man holding a lot of fireworks and wearing Elizabethan clothing. Self frowned as he tried to work out who it was. Must have been English, although he was sure that he knew who it was.

"Hufflepuff common room," she said clearly.

"And who the hell are you?" the painting replied. The girl sighed.

"Renee Macmillan, fifth year prefect. Now let us in!"

"And they are?"

"First years! Let us in, Guy!" The painting looked affronted at her tone.

"There's no need to take that tone with me, young lady! Are they parliament supporters?" he demanded. 

"No," Renee replied, exasperated. The painting shifted to reveal a door and a metal plate.

"Right. Now, one at a time, walk up to the door, put your wand hand on the metal plate and say your full name and that you're in Hufflepuff. The scanner will read your handprint, confirm that you are in Hufflepuff and will open the door. Any questions?"

"What if it decides that we aren't in Hufflepuff?" a girl with pigtails asked.

"It'll cut your hand off," Renee replied nonchalantly. "Tends to discourage people that way. Who wants to go first?" She smiled brightly. Everyone looked at each other nervously. No-one wanted to have their hand cut off on their first day. Self rolled his eyes and stepped up to the door. 

"Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety and I am in Hufflepuff," he said clearly, placing his right hand gingerly on the scanner. Apparently he was in Hufflepuff as the door opened, revealing a lift. Selfinsertion stepped inside and the door slammed behind him. 

"Hello, Selfinsertion," Guy commented. "Thinking of starting your year with a bang?"

"I'd rather end my year with a bang, thank you," Self replied politely. "Who are you?"

"Guy Fawkes," Guy replied. "You've passed the final test, so off to the common room!" The lift zoomed upwards and Self stumbled. It was a short ride, so either the common room was not far off the ground or the lift was going really fast. Probably the latter, Self decided. The door opened and Self stepped into the common room.

It was big, much bigger then his gutted car. Then again, it would be hard to fit everyone in his car, as it was hard enough for just his father and himself. There were recliner chairs everywhere, each with a state of the art computer. Self wondered how they could work, considering that none of his little electronic 'gadgets' worked. He resolved to find out how in the immediate future. 

An older boy stuck his head into the common room, closely followed by the rest of his body. He smiled engagingly at Self and gestured toward one of the chairs.

"Sit down, the rest of your year will be here shortly," he said warmly. "I'm Michael Zabini."

"Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety," Self offered. Michael's smile widened.

"Any relation to Patrick O'Bugger-Subtlety?" he asked.

"My father," Self replied. Michael's smile looked suspiciously as if it was about to crack his face in half. 

"Hey guys!" he yelled over his shoulder. "We've got Pat O'Bugger-Subtlety's son!" Whoops and cheers could be heard from the corridor. Self frowned. Normally people didn't respond like that when he said who his father was, he generally got dirty looks or death threats. This school was a seriously strange place.

The lift opened and Justin stepped out. He grinned at Self.

"Our painting is Guy Fawkes!" he hissed. "Isn't that cool!"

"He's the only one of the English scum that I admire," Self replied. "Anyone that tries to blow up parliament is a hero of mine. I didn't know he was a wizard though."

The lift hissed open and a girl stepped out.

"There's about ten people left," she commented. "Oh, and I'm to tell you to sit down at one of the chairs and everything will be explained when Renee gets here." Self shrugged and sat down at the back of the room, as close to the exit as possible. He had learnt from experience that if a bomb's been set nearby, an escape route is always handy.

The computer screen flashed at him and Self looked down. 'Place your hand on the screen,' was printed in glowing green letters. Self put his left hand down, reasoning that if it got electrocuted, he would still be able to write. The screen flashed once, then 'Welcome to the Hufflepuff Network, Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety' appeared on the screen. Self whistled in amazement, then began a search for minesweeper, reasoning that every computer had minesweeper on it.

He still hadn't found it when Renee walked into the room and headed toward the front. She sat down at the main computer, placed her hand on the screen, then rapped a staccato. The wall behind her changed from a painting of some insipid scenery into a projection screen and a stylised badger appeared.

"Welcome to the Hufflepuff Resistance," Renee began. "Before we begin, this room being constantly being swept for explosives, so if any of you have some strapped to your body, please remove them now. " No-one moved. "This means you, Ernie," she said pointedly at a boy that Self was sure was her brother. He grumbled and started to remove the C4 strapped to his torso. Self was unimpressed. Surely he knew that suicide bombing was the most stupid thing to do. It's almost impossible to do a repeat performance afterwards for one.

"How many of you were horrified to find yourself in Hufflepuff? Be honest." Three people raised their hands. "Mind telling us why? Susan, you go first." The girl with pigtails looked down at her computer monitor.

"My sister said that Hufflepuff is where all the rejects go, because no-one else wants them," she whispered to the monitor. "She's in Gryffindor," she added.

"My brother said that I'd be disowned if I were in Hufflepuff," another girl commented.

"My aunt told me that if I wasn't in Slytherin, my parents would roll in their graves," a boy added.

"Let me guess, your parents were in Slytherin or Gryffindor. Am I right, Katie?" Renee asked. The little girl nodded miserably. "Let me tell you a bit about myself. I'm a Macmillan, and we've been in Hufflepuff since the beginning of time, or the founding of Hogwarts, which ever came first. As such, my family has a somewhat unique view of this particular house. To put it bluntly, the other houses are overrated. Ravenclaws are all right, and they make fantastic intelligence agents. In fact there's a first year girl that, according to her records, could be something exceptional. Slytherin and Gryffindor on the other hand, quite frankly, are one and the same in their stupidity. Slytherins spend too much time back-stabbing one another to actually achieve anything, while the Gryffindors are too intent on personal glory to even consider working together. As such, any scheme they come up with is doomed.

"We, on the other hand, do not suffer these flaws. We are quite capable of working together to achieve our goals, and we never fail at them. If we decide we want something, we'll get it. Hufflepuffs make the best assassins, terrorists and dictators, because of our ability to work diligently toward a goal. If Voldemort had been sorted into Hufflepuff, he'd still be here now. With me so far?" Everyone nodded.

"As members of Hufflepuff house, you will be required to attend lectures on various topics, ranging from explosives to holding onto power once you have it. These lectures are compulsory and a roll will be marked, although it shouldn't be necessary. The Sorting Hat saw that you all have the qualities for our house and it has never been wrong.

"However, does anyone want out?" No one raised his or her hands. "Are you sure? Good. Now I'm well aware that most of you have a personal stash of objects that most professors would disapprove of. If any of it's electrical, you may have noticed that it doesn't work here. Feel free to leave it with Professor Sprout and she'll charm it so it'll work here. Just don't let any non-Hufflepuff teachers see it." Renee smiled.

"Any questions?"

"When do we get to blow stuff up?" Ernie asked. Renee rolled her eyes. 

"In potions. Just act incompetent and Snape will eventually come to expect it. He's remarkably obliging that way."

"How do we get here without you?" Susan asked. Renee slapped her hand against her forehead.

"Can't believe I forgot that. You'll be issued with identification cards that are linked to your magic. That's why you had to put your wand hand on the scanner. Lose that, and your life is forfeit. Anything else?" Everyone shook their heads. "Your stuff's already in your rooms, now go fight over who gets which bed. The girls are in the first room on the right, the boys on the left. Get!" The first years scampered, Self among them. If Renee was to believed, her heritage was even more renowned then his own, and there was no way he was going to cross her this early in the game.

By the time Self elbowed his way to the first year boys room, all of the beds with the exception of the one closest to the door had already been taken. Self grinned. Apparently he was the only one who knew about escape routes. 

"I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley," Justin called from his bed near the window.

"Ernie Macmillan," the boy who previously was wearing his body weight in C4 added. "Renee's my sister."

"Neil Rethelian," a small, dark haired boy continued.

"Eric Chant," a tall blond boy called.

"Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety," Self added. 

"So," Ernie asked. "Who's a member of what? I'm with the IRA Supporters." Self was startled at this admission. He was even more startled at the next few revelations.

"Boy Scouts," Justin and Eric replied. At the incredulous looks the other boys gave them they protested, "Do you have any idea what they teach you in the Boy Scouts?" 

"Hooligans and Juvenile Delinquents, Edinburgh branch," Neil answered.

"Junior IRA," Self replied. "If the mission goes well though, the IRA itself."

"And what's that?" Eric asked curiously. Self wondered whether he could safely tell them, then remembered that there was a spell for removing memories. 

"To blow up Hogwarts," he replied finally. There was an awed silence.

"Do you want any help?" Justin asked.

Authors Note: Nice to know that my little parody is so well received! I even got a new beta reader from it (woohoo!). Thanks be to the honourable Lady Faith Lestrange who was subjected to the sheer stupidity of this fic and had to wrestle it into submission.


	3. Chapter 3

To: p.obuggersubtlety@ira.com.ni

From:  s.obuggersubtlety@jira.com.ni

Mission Update

Mission #1436

Operative: Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety

So far the mission to infiltrate the English school has been successful. Remain undetected at the moment. Will update if situation changes.

*

Self had concluded after one week of lessons that Hogwarts deserved to be blown up. It was a perfectly reasonable attitude to take, he thought, considering what kind of week it had been. One whole week without chocolate (his supply had dried up on the first day), learning to write with a quill (a much harder task then it looks) and (the worst thing, in Self's unbiased opinion) drinking pumpkin juice. He had not liked pumpkin when it was in its usual vaguely solid state, but the juice was infinitely worse. Why the blasted house elves persisted in serving it at every meal was beyond Self.

The classes being offered at Hogwarts were….somewhat eclectic, and in Self's opinion, varying in relevance to the outside world. For example, he had yet to see a use for the sheer amount of Goblin rebellions that so fascinated Professor Binns. While normally people rebelling against their oppressor were a good thing in Self's eyes, the fact that there were so many of them suggested that they had little to offer in the way of relevant information. And Professor Binns was incredibly boring.

Astronomy wasn't much better. It was dark, cold, and all they did was look at stars. Self was not impressed by this. He could do that at home, and he didn't have to put up with Professor Sinistra telling him to "Search for Sirius."

In fact, most of his classes had been boring. The only two that had been at all interesting were Charms and Potions.

*

"Now, class" Professor Flitwick carolled from his stool. "We're going to practise the wand movements for the Wingardium Leviosa spell. Remember, swish and flick!" The class obediently swished and flicked their wands, with the exception of Eric, who sat there with a somewhat forlorn expression on his face.

"Mr Chant?" Professor Flitwick asked curiously. "Why aren't you practising the movements?" Eric looked down at his desk and mumbled something about not having a wand to practise with. Professor Flitwick frowned and inquired tactfully whether Eric could afford one or not. Eric sighed and began an explanation that the Hufflepuffs were becoming very used to.

"I went to Ollivanders, and it turns out that I'm not supposed to have a wand," Eric replied in the world weary tones of someone who has had to give this explanation too many times. "I can do magic without it though." Professor Flitwick looked intrigued at this.

"Really? Can you demonstrate?" The other Hufflepuffs looked alarmed at this and dived under the tables. The Ravenclaws, not having enough experience with Eric, merely looked bemused. Eric sighed a martyred sigh and muttered "Wingardium Leviosa." The resulting chaos shall be analysed in slow motion, so that none of it is missed.

Professor Flitwick rose rapidly to the ceiling, which does not sound initially bad, until you realise that the ceiling is halfway to the exosphere. The furniture (which was bolted to the floor) rattled alarmingly. The Ravenclaws dived under the tables and clung to the legs, trying to resist the pull toward the outer atmosphere. The Hufflepuffs looked at one another and rolled their eyes.

From far, far away, they could hear a tiny "Finite Incantatum."

The furniture stopped moving. The Ravenclaws climbed tentatively back onto their chairs. After exchanging a glance with Eric, the Hufflepuffs followed. Then they waited. They listened carefully as a thin scream could be heard. It got progressively louder.

Professor Flitwick flew through the air and looked as though he was going to hit the ground with a bone shattering impact (literally) when Eric threw out a hand. Professor Flitwick stopped falling centimetres from the ground. It was an alarming position to be in, and Flitwick sent a pleading glance at Eric. Eric shrugged and lowered his hand. Flitwick fell the remaining few centimetres, brushed himself off and climbed back on his stool.

"Mr Chant….are you one of _those Chants?" Flitwick asked shakily. Eric looked somewhat confused at this statement. "Oh, never mind," Flitwick snapped. "Just keep your hands in your pockets." Eric shoved his hands into his pockets, looking rather hurt at Flitwick's tone._

The remainder of the lesson was rather boring. Flitwick, sending wary glances at the Hufflepuff table, dictated to them notes about the charms they would be studying this year. These glances might have something to do with Eric writing with his mouth more than anything.

*

Professor Snape stared down beadily at the Hufflepuffs.

"I have heard all about your little …..accident, Mr Chant. In this class, you will keep your left hand in your pocket. Is that clear?" Eric nodded quickly, looking very pale. Self decided that Snape needed to get out more. Or buy some shampoo, one with instructions of its use.

"My name is Professor Snape, and I know none of you will appreciate the subtle art that is Potions," Snape began. 

"Hang on," Self whispered to Ernie. "Isn't Potions just whacking things in a pot?" Ernie nodded slightly. "So Potions is essentially home economics?" Ernie nodded, grin creeping across his face.

"O'Bugger-Subtlety!" Snape snapped. Self looked up. "Mind sharing with the class what you and Mr Macmillan found so amusing?" Self shook his head. There was no way he would share that. Snape did not look mollified.

"Answer me, boy!" Snape hissed. 

"No, sir. I wouldn't like to share it," Self replied. This seemed to infuriate Snape further.

"Would you like a detention?" 

Self felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline.

"No sir," he replied, bewildered. Why would anyone want a detention? Unfortunately Snape didn't see it that way, and not only awarded Self a detention, but took points for rudeness. Self was affronted. He _wasn't being rude. Snape had asked him a question, and he answered it._

Snape then proceeded to rattle off theoretical notes rapid-fire, as if trying to get into the Guinness Book of Records. When Self made that observation to Ernie, Ernie looked at him blankly. Self resolved to never make reference to Muggle things with wizard-family students. They tend to be woefully uninformed.

Finally, Snape allowed them to make a potion. Unfortunately, Self was unable to work out what it was (because Snape wrote it on the board in his dreadful handwriting) but he reasoned that Ernie would know what to do.

And yes, he did.

The resulting explosion was one of the best Self had ever seen. Even Snape was impressed. You could see it in the blood that rose to his face, or the spittle that adorned his mouth.

"Gods and Goddesses above! Why must I be cursed with yet another incompetent Macmillan? And you lot, why didn't you tell him? Twenty points from Hufflepuff!" The first year Hufflepuffs hung their heads, mainly to obscure the wicked grins that crept across all of their faces. Next lesson was going to be fun.

*

Self sighed as he sent the mission report email to his father. He should have added something about sending him more chocolate. Oh well. Maybe Justin had some. Self looked around surreptitiously, then dived under Justin's bed and pulled out a chocolate bar. Life was all right after all.


	4. Chapter 4

In Self's opinion, flying and the related sport of Quidditch were severely overrated. If broomsticks were meant to fly, they would have a pressurised cabin, a seat and an engine. The use of an object designed to sweep floors was just perverse. Of course, this negative attitude could be due to the fact that Self refused to get higher then ten inches off the ground.

The Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw flying lesson (held before the Gryffindor-Slytherin lesson out of sheer practicality) was either an intriguing juxtaposition or absolute chaos, depending on the perspective. While the Ravenclaws were zipping around merrily, smug in their knowledge that there was no way that they would be permitted to die, the Hufflepuffs were not so naïve.

It turned out that Neil was petrified of heights. Unfortunately for Neil, this was only discovered when he rose to ten feet and looked down. The resulting hysteria culminated in him falling off his broomstick and landing painfully. Nothing was broken, but Neil refused to even look at his broomstick after that.

Ernie was cheerfully yelling instructions to Justin on flying. Justin was perfectly content to stand on the ground, broom hovering just below his outstretched hand, and look quizzically at it.

As for Eric, Madam Hooch refused to let him anywhere near a broom. Apparently Eric's very proximity to a broom would cause it to fail. Self, who had read Quidditch through the Ages, thought somewhat cynically that it had more to do with Eric's ability to cast wandless magic and the ramifications of such ability in a Quidditch match more than anything else did. And of course, Hufflepuff couldn't have such a wildcard in their team.

Self, being a cynical sort, had noticed the stigma associated with Hufflepuff house and was rather bemused by it all. Professor Sprout had spoken to them before their first class and explained the situation. In order for them to continue their activities, the Hufflepuff students had to perpetuate the myth that Hufflepuffs were slow, stupid and practically Squibs. If was a fair trade off, really, when Self thought about it.

Finally the airborne torture was over and Self jumped off his broom. He contemplated kissing the ground in relief but decided that this was a little excessive. However, after Madam Hooch's announcement of classes next week, Self was quite capable of murder.

"Oh Lord, give me a blunt knife and the enthusiasm to use it," he whispered fervently to Neil, who sniggered in approval. The sniggers spread around the Hufflepuff boys as Neil told everyone what had been said, and it was unanimously decided that their motto would be 'blunt knife and enthusiasm' from that day forth.

*

If there was one thing that Self agreed on with the rest of the school, it was the sheer boredom associated with History of Magic. Self had seen a goblin exactly once (unless you counted his little brother that is) and had reasoned that they had a pretty good life. After all, they lived in a place where they could charge astronomical fees, embezzle however much money they wanted and not get caught. He honestly had no idea why they kept rioting all the time, or why Professor Binns was so enamoured with this period of history. This feeling of confusion was shared with his classmates, and a lively conversation was being carried out using notes.

The conversation began with Ernie 'telling' Self that he had asked his sister for inspiration on their end of year project. Self was initially apprehensive, as his past experience with his multitude of brothers and sisters had told him that telling a sibling anything was tantamount to telling the entire world while standing on the front lawn of Buckingham Palace wearing only your underwear. And yes, he had done that too. However, Ernie was quick to reassure Self and the rest of their coterie that Renee was perfectly trustworthy and in fact had some suggestions on improving the execution somewhat. 

Eric nodded wisely and passed a note that pointed out that Professor Sprout had called a house meeting that afternoon, after History of Magic to be exact. Seeing as though no-one else had known about the meeting, there was a flurry of notes directed toward Eric asking something along the lines of 'how did you know?' Apparently Professor Dumbledore had announced it during breakfast. The others nodded. They had been wearing their fluffy earmuffs in case the school song was to be sung again, ignoring warnings from the upper years that the torture only happened once a year. They reasoned that there was no punishment for being cautious.

Professor Binns interrupted their conversation at that point, asking whether they had copied down the map of Ugborg the Undescribable military campaign. They all nodded hastily and Professor Binns wafted back to the front of the classroom. Neil risked a detention to speak aloud.

"You reckon he knows he's dead?" he asked innocently. The others shook their heads, smirking as they did so. Professor Binns, having heard the question, wafted toward them with a quizzical expression on his rather insubstantial face.

"You had a question, Mister Ravellen?" Binns asked. Neil, interpreting that Professor Binns meant him, repeated the question. Professor Binns looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Really? Dead?" he asked. The Hufflepuffs nodded eagerly. "Well, bugger this for a game of soldiers then." With this, Professor Binns wafted out of the classroom, muttering something about fifty years of back pay to collect and the holiday in the Bahamas that he had always wanted to take.

"Well done, Neil," Hannah commented sardonically. "Now who's going to teach us History of Magic?" Neil considered this for a moment. Self swore that he could hear the gears whirring in his head.

"I'll teach it?" Neil offered. No one seemed willing to take him up on that offer. Understandable really.

"Why don't we just pretend he's still here? Do a deal with the other houses, and just copy the notes from upper years?" Susan drawled. "It's not like the exams are changed anyway."

"Yeah!" Ernie said rather enthusiastically, waking Justin, who had been sleeping on his shoulder. Justin looked around blearily, noticed the lack of Professor Binns and started to pack up his books. Ernie grabbed his wrist and gestured at his wind up watch. Justin frowned in confusion. This prompted a quick explanation while the others sorted out the details of their plan.

"So, if we tell the prefects in our house, they can tell the prefects for the other houses," Ernie finished, looking at everyone triumphantly. It seemed like a good plan to them, so they all agreed. Unanimously it was also agreed that class was over for the day, so everyone left before Dumbledore could organise a replacement.

Heading back to the common room, Self heard someone calling out. Curious, he headed toward it, neglecting to take the turn off to the common room. He stumbled in the dark, desperately wishing he had learnt how to call light from his wand; it would have been really handy at a time like this.

He stumbled over something and fell onto the ground. His cry of surprise was coupled with someone else's cry of pain. Startled, Self picked himself back up and pointed his wand toward the general direction of the noise.

"Could you not point that thing at me?" a boy's voice asked plaintively. "I'm in Hufflepuff too, you know. Dumbledore sent me down here because I arrived late. Fell asleep on the train and got taken back to London. Wasn't all that bad really, there was some girl who fell asleep too." Self frowned. Wasn't there a girl in his cabin who did that? Sleepy or something?

"Unfortunately, I haven't a clue where to go now. Do you reckon you could show me? I'm Zacharias, by the way," the boy offered. Self thought for a moment, shrugged and pulled Zacharias to his feet. If he was in Hufflepuff, well and good, and if he wasn't….Self had always wanted to see the security system in action.

Unluckily for Self (but probably very lucky for Zacharias) the security system recognised Zacharias as a Hufflepuff student and admitted him. Their entry into the common room was rather understated, but the welcome in their dormitory was not so.

"Ernie!" Zacharias yelled. Ernie turned away from his transfiguration homework, recognised Zacharias and smiled widely.

"Zach!" he replied.

"Ernie!"

"Zach!"

This looked to continue for some time. It was already becoming tedious. Thankfully, Neil interrupted.

"I assume you're Zach?" he asked dryly. Zach nodded. "Well that explains the additional suitcase that appeared a couple of minutes ago. Okay, you know Ernie, obviously, the guy that rescued you is Self, Justin's the one who's currently poking his wand at various objects to see if he can make them explode, the boy looking somewhat miserable with his left hand in his pocket is Eric and I'm Neil."

"Zach is my partner in crime, the mastermind of the operation," Ernie added. Zach looked embarrassed. "Don't worry, Zach. These guys are just like us." Zach raised an eyebrow. "No, really!"

"So when's Hogwarts getting blown sky high?" Zach asked sardonically.

"By the end of the year at the latest," Self replied seriously. Zach studied him for a second, then a broad grin crossed his face. 

"Count me in," he said eagerly. Self nodded. 

""Don't we have a house meeting soon?" Eric asked plaintively. There were collective nods and the mad rush to the door. This manoeuvre was a difficult one, involving the judicious use of elbows and other objects that would cause pain if jabbed into a ribcage. It was an ungraceful move, but what it lost in elegance it gained in effectiveness. This time, Self was first to the door and he stepped through triumphantly. The rest of the boys trailed after him, rubbing sore ribs and elbows. 

Michael raised a knowing eyebrow as they limped into the common room and gestured to the computer terminals, most of which were occupied by older students. Self wondered how it was that there were enough computers for everyone, but decided that was a question for another day. He sat down beside Eric and waited.

Professor Sprout stood up and walked toward the front of the room. She fiddled with the microphone until it was at the right height, then let her hands fall to her side.

"Hello everyone. Yes, Michael, everyone's here, you can sit down now." Michael, looking somewhat sheepish, sat down at the nearest terminal. "Let us begin. Firstly, the first years are to remember that they are not to stand out in any way, as we are not to draw attention to ourselves. This includes you, Mister Smith. I have your record right here." Professor Sprout waved a manila folder and Zach slid down in his seat, looking intensely embarrassed. Self sympathised. It was hard when the teachers already knew everything about you.

"Secondly, we have our yearly project. The other houses have forgotten about Hufflepuff for long enough. It is time we reminded them exactly how brave, how smart and how cunning we can be while working as a team. It is time to show them that we, not Gryffindor, Slytherin or Ravenclaw, are the more superior house. And this is how it will be done."

Self watched in interest as the screen in front of him bloomed with colour, displaying a three dimensional schematic diagram. He blinked a few times and the image resolved into a map of Hogwarts. Red bloomed in certain points of the diagram and Self wondered what they were for.

"As you have hopefully all realised, this is a map of Hogwarts. Our mission this year is to completely demolish it, via the use of strategically placed explosives, obtained from the gracious Mister O'Bugger-Subtlety. These will be disguised as gifts to his son and his friends so, Self? Try to intercept them if you can. Your father said you should be able to do that." Self frowned. He had a sneaking suspicion that what his father had actually said was 'If my idiot son can't work out which packages are the explosives, then he deserves to get blown up. And those moronic friends of his as well.'

"For the older students, you will collect your explosives from Selfinsertion, and start to place them in the positions designated in the diagram you see on your screen. I will notify you at a later date as to who will put their explosives where. The details for the rest of this exercise will be revealed at a later date. Now, prefects? Do you have anything to add?" Michael stood up from his position at the back.

"Nothing from the second, third and seventh years." He sat back down and a brown haired girl stood up, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Nothing from the fourth or sixth years," she replied quietly and sat back down. Renee stood up.

"Apart from the short disappearance of Zacharias, nothing to report from the first or fifth years." She was about to sit down when Ernie called out "Renee? I wish to speak!" Renee looked somewhat confused, but she nodded. Ernie stood up and began an incoherent ramble about the events during their History of Magic class. Professor Sprout interrupted before he finished.

"Ah, yes. The disappearance of Professor Binns. I did wonder about that. Fortunately, Professor Dumbledore has convinced Professor Binns to stay on as the History of Magic professor." There was much muttering about how Professor Binns remaining could be a good thing. Professor Sprout continued on regardless. "As a result, you may continue in your extensive note passing in that class. Is there anything else?" The room was silent. "Very well. You are dismissed." 

The common room was vacated in an organised manner, or rather more organised as normal. No one died, or was even maimed. It was a quite impressive achievement, when you thought about it.

Authors Note: For anyone who didn't already know, this story was begun before OotP came out. Hence the absence of Zacharias Smith from the first three chapters. Short of rewriting them entirely, I had to do what I did here, awkward as it may seem.

Chapter Five may take a while. My lecturers have decided to go all draconian on us, and gave us _lots_ of assignments. (If anyone knows how genetic engineering works, please email me at quinn_dexter@hotmail.com and tell me! I can't seem to find out how anywhere. *smacks head on keyboard *)


	5. Chapter 5

Bemused by the commotion from the Gryffindor table, Self craned his head and looked for the eye of the storm. Once again, the attention was focused around Potter, which was to be expected. He turned back to the group.

"Potter's got a broom," he remarked casually. The responses to this were quite varied. Neil shrugged and went back to eating his bacon, Eric looked up from attempting to enchant the cutlery and looked at Self as if he were mad, Justin muttered something along the lines of how brooms should be used to clean floors and as for Ernie and Zacharias...

"What do you mean, he has a broom?" Ernie demanded. "He's a first year, first years aren't allowed them! It's not fair!" Zacharias stood on the table and announced that the broom was a devious plan by disgruntled house-elves, who would strike out at their oppressors by removing their heroes one at a time. He was ignored. Self sighed and pulled Zach off the table. Having Zach stand on the table announcing the plans of the anarchist house-elves was becoming a morning ritual, much like brushing your teeth and having a shower. Except for Potter, who evidently believed that showers were for the weak, and had not had one since the beginning of the year, and maybe not even then either. He thought that people stepped away from him because of his defeating of Voldemort as a toddler. Showed what he knew.

"So he has a broom," Self continued. "Big deal. He's just a jock and we all know what jocks are like." The group nodded in unison. They did all know what jocks were like. Generally they were brash, unwittingly abrasive and offensive, the favourites of authority figures and always disrupted the carefully crafted plans of people such as the Hufflepuffs. It was offensive in every possible way and the jocks would be first against the wall when the revolution comes. It would be a joyous day when the Hufflepuffs ruled the world.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff for behaviour ill-suited for a student, Mister Smith," Professor Snape commented from the high table. This too, was a morning ritual since Zach had joined the first years, as was their instinctive response.

"Authority figures," they commented in tones of disgust, shuddering as they did so. Authority figures were to be despised and feared for two reasons; they believed that they were always right, and they had the ability to punish you if they thought you were wrong. Professor Sprout was tolerated because of her experience in terrorism. The first years would often hear the story of how she, as a fourth year, destroyed Hogsmeade on a drunken whim because she was bored. It was a brilliantly executed plan, the fact that she was almost in an alcoholic coma notwithstanding. Self resolved to be as experienced as Professor Sprout when he and his house finished blowing up Hogwarts.

*

Charms was especially boring that day. Professor Flitwick had announced that they would be learning how to levitate a feather "with the exception of Mister Chant, as he has destroyed enough classrooms this year." Eric looked particularly dejected over the last comment and Neil, who was his lab partner, felt the need to comfort him.

"He's actually been doing really well lately," Neil commented loudly and Eric beamed. Self nodded in agreement. Eric had only destroyed one classroom that month, a pitiful result when Ernie's track record for Potions was considered. It was truly a remarkable feat, to actually be banned from Potions for the rest of your natural life, and to have achieved it in your first year was seen as a sign of _great things_. Generally these great things involved great big explosions, but as Ernie was a Hufflepuff, that was to be expected.

The actual exercise was simple and boring. The feather floated in the air. Big deal. The spell was much more exciting when Eric did it, and with this in mind, Self leaned across and suggested it to Neil. 

Neil grinned and whispered it to Eric, who nodded in resolve. Eric moved his hand. The feather exploded. Then another. It was a pyrotechnic chain reaction and Self settled back to watch the fireworks. Literally. 

The display was forestalled by Professor Flitwick casting a multitude of extinguishing charms on the flames. The Hufflepuffs pouted. It wasn't fair that he spoiled their fun like that. The Ravenclaws looked at them with disdain and cast their charms flawlessly, smirking as their Head of House rained points on them. 

It was time for revenge.

*

"Troll – in the dungeon – thought you ought to know," Professor Quirrell gasped, fetching up on the head table. The Hufflepuffs hid their grins. Everything was going exactly to plan. They had lured a troll up to the ground entrance of Hogwarts, had let slip to the Slytherins that there was a dark arts artefact down there, and proceeded to watch the chaos. 

And chaotic it was. The Slytherins were directed to the dungeons (which amused the Hufflepuffs greatly, for that was where the troll was), the Ravenclaws were directed to the library (which was either a mistake or a subtle jab at their obsession with books) the Gryffindor were sent as far away from the troll as possible and everyone ignored the Hufflepuffs. A desirable outcome indeed. Now, things would be perfect if…

"Professors! To the dungeon!" Dumbledore commanded. The Hufflepuffs cheered. Flitwick was going to get it. Maybe next time he'll think before destroying their handiwork. To make matters better, Weasley and Potter were heading down to the dungeon where hopefully they would be killed. It would be a glorious day in Hufflepuff history.

"Quick, pretend we're moronic," Renee hissed and the first years put on their patented gormless expressions and wandered aimlessly around the castle. Every time someone stopped them, they asked stupid things like "What is the velocity of a laden African swallow?" People left them alone after a while and they made their way to the Hufflepuff common room unwatched.

Once there, Professor Sprout quickly ushered them inside and turned on the projector. The Hufflepuffs made suitable noises of admiration and awe. The display was crystal clear, obviously digital. They could see the individual veins on the troll, it was that good. 

Unfortunately Granger was not dead yet, but there was still hope. She hadn't done the rash bravery thing that Gryffindors were wont to do, but that would come, given time. The Hufflepuffs cheered the troll on, especially when it loomed menacingly over Granger - that was a work of genius. Good work should be rewarded after all.

The cheers turned to boos as Potter and Weasley appeared on screen and began to beat up their troll. It was horrible – they should have been reported for torturing a poor innocent creature. Certainly not rewarded for it by their head of house. The unholy trio were now slated for death. No one interferes with the plans of a Hufflepuff. No one.

*

_Dear Father,_

_Hogwarts is great, have learnt all sorts of techniques that we can use during the holidays._

_However, we have been wronged by a certain three students and request your assistance. It appears that one of their acquaintances; a Rubeus Hagrid is fascinated by mythical creatures, in particular, dragons. I know that Finnegan is particularly talented in the fashioning of electronic beasts, so would it be possible for one to be made? With all the usual outfitting of course._

_Your devoted son_

_Selfinsertion_

Self smiled evilly as he tied the letter to the leg of an owl and threw it out the window (after a series of experiments, Self discovered they go faster that way, probably to get away from their attacker). 

The next stage of the plan was underway.

Authors Note:
    
    This chapter actually involved research! Okay, it was one news paper article, but it deserves to be included.   You will visit it, and learn the reason why Harry is smelly. 


	6. Chapter 6

Self was rather surprised when Professor Sprout announced that it was almost the Christmas holidays. It was not that it was holiday time that startled him, more the fact that Professor Sprout told them in no uncertain terms that they were to all go home because she was not going to put up with the constant stream of owls delivering presents this year. Judging by the serious faces of the older students, this was a potent threat indeed. Self shrugged and emailed his father, asking to come home for Christmas.

He glanced around, searching for his yearmates. Ernie was looking wistfully at Hannah and Susan, who were giggling to one another. Self was immediately suspicious. There were no giggling schoolgirls in Hufflepuff - school rumours to the contrary. This aberrant behaviour was suspicious in the extreme. Self suspected that he had just found the intelligence liaisons. Who would suspect a giggling Hufflepuff?

Shifting his gaze past Ernie, Hannah and Susan, Self noticed Neil staring intently at a computer screen, fingers flying frantically over the keys. As he watched, Neil gave a whoop of delight and his fist shot into the air. An older student leaned over Neil's shoulder and whistled lowly.

"Cedric, he's within a minute of your time," she announced. A dark haired fourth year whipped his head around, grey eyes wide with surprise.

"I'm being challenged by a first year?" Cedric blurted in disbelief. Neil glared at him before returning his gaze to the keyboard.

Eric was making objects move, face very intent. Self stifled a giggle as someone's shoes started to waltz. The left shoe led, while the right followed. It was strangely fascinating.

Zach was talking animatedly to a girl with dark hair. She had a name, but most people just called her 'that anarchist girl.' Self could see why Zach found her so interesting - she encouraged his actions to encourage the house elves to revolt.

And Justin was...nowhere to be found. This was worrisome. No good had ever come of Justin disappearing. He had an unfortunate tendency to appear a few hours later, covered in mud, clutching multitudes of detention slips and a huge grin on his face. No-one ever asked what he had been doing. It wasn't worth it.

"What ya doin'? Justin asked from behind Self. Self shrugged. He wasn't doing anything in particular. It was more of an absent-minded glance around the room. He was saved from explaining this when the computer beeped, signaling that Self had an email. Apparently he was to come home for Christmas, but he would have to share a room with Seamus2, Patrick and Sean2. Self sighed. There was nothing worse than sharing a room with your younger siblings. It could have been worse though. He could have been sharing with Colleen, Mary and Bridget, or Eoin, Sean and Seamus. Self made a face at the thought of sharing a room with his older brothers. They were really silly, always going on about girls and magazines and stupid stuff like that. Oh well. He'd better get his gear together.

Eoin was waiting for him at the train station, tapping his foot impatiently. Self glared at him. It wasn't his fault that the train was late. He said as much to Eoin, who cuffed him lightly. Self gave him a death glare and kicked his suitcase. Three minutes out of school and already he wanted to go back. This thought startled him, as he had thought that he disliked Hogwarts. Evidently his dislike was not as cemented as he first thought. He scowled at this thought and kicked his case again. The case, all too used to this sort of abuse, fell open, spilling Self's belongings onto the ground. Several passers-by looked at him askance as he moodily collected his belongings and shoved them back into the case. Eoin picked up the handle, grabbed Self's collar and dragged them out of the station before Self caused more chaos.

The O'Bugger-Subtlety household was a rather interesting one, with many people appearing and disappearing at various times, wearing expressions of grim determination. This might be due to the fact that it doubled as the local IRA headquarters, or that Mrs. O'Bugger-Subtlety was cooking again. There were many times when Self contemplated the relative merit of a potato, only to conclude that there were none. He had no idea why his mother was so enamoured of them. He remembered asking once, only to receive a smack around the back of the head from Colleen. You never questioned the validity of the potato, the potato simply was.

Apparently Self had arrived home in time for another mission, albeit a rather rushed one. Seeing as it was almost Christmas and all, Patrick O'Bugger-Subtlety Sr. had decided that the Protestant Church down the road had stood for long enough and they would not allow it to sully their fair Ireland any more. Self thought cynically that the Protestants might have had the same idea, and the Catholic Church might not be standing after the Christmas holidays either. After thinking this through, Self was horrified at himself. And yet, it made sense.

Self stormed off into the bedroom and slammed the door. It would have been a suitably dramatic moment, had there been a door. Unfortunately, a groundsheet really doesn't compare. Patrick looked up in curiousity, noticed Self, scowled at him and returned to his book. Self considered throwing something at him, but decided against it. Instead, he decided that sulking would be a useful plan.

However, time, or explosives, waits for no man, and so Self found himself assisting in the destruction of the church. He had decided that it was purely practice for his own mission, which in his mind had shifted from "blow the self-righteous English pigs off the planet" to "show those self-righteous Gryffindors, snobby Ravenclaws and stupidly ambitious Slytherins that Hufflepuffs are not to messed with", although he would never admit it to anyone else. Bridget elbowed him sharply in the ribs and Self passed her the nails. She grunted in thanks and continued making her part of the bomb. He delicately poured in the accelerant, making sure not to disrupt it more than what was strictly necessary. He really didn't want to have to explain to Professor Sprout that the reason why he wasn't returning to Hogwarts was because he'd killed himself and was now a disembodied spirit bound to the shed in his parents' back yard. Somehow he doubted that would go over well at all.

Mary smacked him on the back of the head and Self jerked in surprise. He glanced down at his bomb, only to be surprised to see that all the accelerant was already in there. He blinked in bewildered bafflement. Mary sighed and took the bomb out of his hands. 

"You'll be staying behind tonight," she commented. "You can watch from the window." Self opened his mouth to protest, but closed it under her baleful glare. "You've been staring off into space, doing nothing – don't you argue with me, Selfinsertion, I've seen it! We can't risk it!" Self glared. It wasn't fair. Why did he have to stay back with all the little kids? Hogwarts couldn't come soon enough. At least there they treated him like an adult, not some little kid who needed his hand held all the time.

The explosion wasn't all that good anyway, or so Self told himself. He really didn't want to be there, helping them out. He didn't mind staying at home with the little kids. Not at all. 

He doubted that his housemates were stuck with the little kids. It wasn't fair. He wanted to go back, where he could get involved. At Hogwarts, he wasn't just someone who could pour accelerant into an explosive, he was part of something important, and he wasn't dismissed as being too little to help. If he was at Hogwarts, he'd be with other kids. He'd be allowed to use his magic. It wasn't fair and Self wanted to go back. 

It was time to revitalize the campaign to demonstrate Hufflepuff superiority. Self pushed himself upright away from the window, casting one last wistful glance at the Protestant church burning merrily. He had letters to write and things to organise before he returned to Hogwarts.

Author note: This is as angsty as it gets, people. Never fear, next chapter will have the Badgers back together.


	7. Chapter 7

Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Finnegan's kid - some stupid Gryffindor, whatshisname. Self couldn't stand him when they were in the same JIRA class and the Hat only vindicated his opinions. It was nice to know that a talking piece of haberdashery agreed with you - you never know when that could be useful. Glancing down at his watch, he noted that Finnegan was late, an attribute he suspected was hereditary, as Finnegan Senior was always late with his explosions too. Made them look like amatuers he did, with his explosives going off five minutes after everyone else's had.

"Oi, you're O'Bugger-Subtlety's kid, right?" he heard someone call out from behind him. Whirling on his heel with his wand in the prescribed 'Come any closer and I'll hex you into next month' position (well, he called it that in his head, it actually had a more formal name, but Self thought it was stupid), he grinned at Finnegan's wide-eyed expression. Putting his wand back into it's easy-access pouch attached to his arm (he was the fastest draw of his year because of it and was much the envy of his housemates as well) he nodded sharply once. Finnegan pulled out a large package from his backpack and hefted it awkwardly. Self took it from him, startled by the weight and put it into his backpack.

"One dragon, complete with egg," Finnegan gasped out, his face red. Self noted absently that it looked dreadful with his hair-colour - although he couldn't think of a hair colour which would flatter a brilliant red face. "Tell your father that my da would like to be paid at the end of the month - those bastards at Gringotts fired my mammy. He has to teach them that you don't mess with us."

"By us, do you mean the IRA, Irish wizards or witches, your family or the Irish population in general?" Self asked in genuine curiousity. Finnegan shrugged. "You really don't know? Well, that sucks for you, doesn't it."

"It's the right thing to do!" Finnegan protested. Self rolled his eyes at the Gryffindor bravado. "Alright then, what would _you_ do then?" he demanded. Self sighed heavily.

"For one? Actually know _why_ I'm doing something. I wondered why you were put into Gryffindor - your background would have put you into Hufflepuff easily. Now I know." Ignoring Finnegan's angry protests, Self turned his back on him and headed off to his first class, Potions. Much as he didn't particularly like this class, as there was too much theory and not enough cauldron destruction for his liking, it was still preferable to hanging around a Gryffindor.

He brightened as he remembered that Professor Snape was going to allow Ernie and Eric to work together during the practical side. There had been many combinations tried to curtail Ernie's destructive habit, some resulting in, in Self's opinion, utterly brilliant results. Sadly, Professor Snape did not view destroying a third of the Potions classroom as a laudable achievement. It was a point of contention between him and the Hufflepuffs.

***

Professor Snape was not amused.

***

Before they knew it, it was a Hogsmeade weekend and Self was caught unawares. As such, he had the _delightful_ task of finding a third year willing to perform a favour for him. This was a more difficult task than one would imagine, not because of the nature of the task, merely that they were busy with more important tasks - the irregular replenishing of their stash of junk food. Normally, Self would sympathise - not everyone had parents willing to send their child necessary things such as Mars Bars - but this was important. Why could they not understand this? Finally he managed to find a student willing to perform the task, a repulsive individual named Boris.

"Look, all you have to do is make sure that you lose the egg," Self explained for the fifth time. Boris squinted at him hazily before picking his nose. If you knew his history, Boris was a tragic figure indeed. The hope of Hufflepuff House, Professor Sprout had thought he was capable of great things. Then he discovered the dual demons - girls and firewhisky. Unfortunately for Boris, most girls did not find an individual intent on destroying his liver at the age of twenty remotely attractive, so he had to resort to other means. The underground trade of Playwizard flourished at this point. Boris' addition had grown to the point where he was perpetually in debt and was now willing to perform anything if the fee was high enough.

"Whatta I get outta it?" he slurred. Self shuddered as he belched noxious gases into his face. There had to be laws against that sort of thing. Boris had really been born out of his time. Had he been born in the mid seventies in the US, he could have been used as a biological weapon by the president of the time against whatever Middle-Eastern country had the largest stakehold in oil at the time.

"Three magazines, one bottle and I'll try to negotiate a date with someone for you," Self replied quickly, hoping that the quicker he spoke the faster he could be away from this noxious individual. Boris frowned in thought, his alcohol-pickled brain struggling to ask the questions a more alert person would be able to articulate; how an eleven year old could possibly have any influence over a thirteen year old girl. Finally, he nodded and Self breathed a sigh of relief before making a quick retreat. He hoped that whatever Boris had wasn't catching.

***

After confirming that Boris had in fact lost the egg to someone (Boris wasn't particularly clear on the details, much to Self's dismay), Self had the uneviable position of waiting to see if his plan worked. Days passed, and Hagrid's hut still remained non-crater-shaped. If the Finnegans had played a joke on him, it was one in very poor taste. Out of sheer desperation, he emailed his father, requesting his expertise in such areas. A very terse email was his only response, essentially telling him to either develop patience or become a banker. Self was not amused.

His housemates were not impressed with his constant worrying and one morning, Self found himself thrown into the lake and told to 'have fun' by a grinning Professor Sprout. Fun seemed to be an elusive thing to find, but he did find the giant Squid who, rumours to the contrary,did not want to have a relationship with him. From what Self could ascertain, the Squid was involved in a long term relationship with both the Whomping Willow and Fawkes the Phoenix and Self did not feel that he could possibly offer anything that those two illustrious characters could not. Instead, he bowed out gracefully and closed his eyes when the Willow and the Squid 'bonded'. There was such a thing as too much education.

***

Another week passed and there was still no explosion. Self felt betrayed.

***

The Irregularly Delivered But Is Called Daily Because Of False Advertising Prophet (believe it or not, it's all there - check the fine print the next time the paper's delivered) arrived in it's usual manner - by a kamikaze owl barrelling through the Hufflepuff table, knocking over milk jugs and the smaller children in it's passage. Many complaints had been made to the Daily Prophet about the nature of their owls, but after meeting the editor, the malcontents quickly saw the error of their ways. After Self's enrollment to Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore had opened negotions with said individual about obtaining some of the less suicidal owls, a diplomatic effort that ended with failure.

Self opened the paper and flicked through it casually, ignoring the death stares from those less-fortunate than him in the reflexes department and were now wearing their breakfast on their robes. While he knew very well that it was his fault that the owl had to deliver the paper, it wasn't as if he made the owl do it, was it? A headline caught his eye.

People were very confused when Self threw the paper to the table, complained bitterly about "only page six! Come on, that was a page two at least!", and stalk out. If this story wasn't following the adventures of Selfinsertion O'Bugger-Subtlety, we could hover around the table for a couple of minutes and see that a dragon preserve in Romania was now a very unaesthetically pleasing crater. 

***

_To: p.o'bugger-subtlety@ira.co.uk_

It appears that we have hit a slight snag in the project. Am requesting your assistance in this matter.

Self

Self really didn't want to call his father in on this one. This was supposed to be _his_ project. But now things had gone terribly wrong, and maybe it was time for him to contact the expert on these matters, thus allowing him to focus on his magic-work. If Hogwarts _was_ going to be blown up, he'd like to have as much magical knowledge under his belt beforehand, if given a choice. You never know when that could come in handy.

Authors Note: Wow. It's been a while between chapters. About six months or so, or so I think. It's not that I _mean_ to neglect little Self. It just happens. And thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed this silly little idea. It's a great thrill, knowing that others are being amused by your opinions on the Potterverse.


End file.
